in the past
It was their second time to go with father and the others in the caravan. The first time nothing had gone wrong and they had gotten home early, and so there had been a big feast. This time a great tree had fallen, right across the path, and father said it would take a full day to clear it away.
They were helping with the snow. It was piled high on either side of the rugged path. The men were shoveling it into humongous drifts taller than even great-uncle. They needed to move a lot of it to create a flat area for the horses to pull the tree aside.
Kyo and Ulric didn't have shovels, there weren't enough for everybody, but Kyo had turned coyote and was pushing the snow around with his paws, softening it into smaller clumps. Ulric used his arms, gathering up a load to carry away. Soon enough one of the men noticed them working and gave them a bucket, and then the coyote dug and the boy scooped with that.
The pale sun moved slowly behind the heavy clouds. Time passed. Now they had grown tired and were slacking off, shaping the collected snow into a fort to crawl into.
The quiet forest began to rustle.
Everywhere the men stopped to listen. An eerie, waiting stillness fell. The coyote looked over at his boy, and Ulric's eyes were edged in alert silver. Something shared between them, a dread feeling. The coyote pup's heart skipped.
Then there was an echoing shout, and a dog nearby let out a baying scream. The coyote spun to look. Blood gushed steaming into the snow. It was Zyph, father's prize sledder. An arrow stuck out of his face. He was dead.
Just as fast there was another scream, but this time it came from a man's throat.
---
Everyone was moving, everyone except for the coyote. He stood in a stupor, he didn't know for how long.
Noises and images assaulted him from all sides, things he didn't understand. Fighting, wood axes and shovels against bows, arrows, spears. Burning wagons. Burning horses. Choking smoke and people coughing blood and black flecks. One of the younger sisters wailing. He turned to look at Ulric for help, as if in the middle of everything his boy might explain, might make him feel better. But Ulric had gone. There was only the bucket, abandoned in the snow.
The coyote's heart seized and his mouth went dry and sour with fear. Ulric. Where had he gone? He had to find him! But there were too many footprints to follow, too many feet to avoid. Wounded people calling out for help, canceling out his own yelping cries. Too many smells to follow the one he was searching for.
It was a while before he saw a person he knew and he raced towards the staggering figure. Father! But then the man fell, and the coyote shrieked at the sight of the bloody face, the missing eye. The other eye was yellow and terrible with fear. Still clutching a bloodied ax, father tried to get up, to walk on. His one eye stared towards a larger group of struggling figures.
The group was being roped together. Others that were captured were being tied in. Spears jabbed at them, sometimes scoring. An uncle had fallen to the ground and was being beaten.
When a small figure bent forward to help, they hit him too. A flash of phantom pain went through the bond. The coyote let out a startled, woofing growl, loud enough to carry.
Ulric looked up. His red, bleeding mouth opened in an O of astonishment and sudden, flaring hope. Grey eyes flickered golden white.
"Run!" he cried out, "Run, run!" And then, louder, "Kyo!"
A spear hurtled towards the coyote. He leapt and its blade missed, stuck in the snow, quivering. A man kicked out at him, catching him in the side. He staggered, Ulric yelled for him to run once more, and this time he did.
There was a feeling blossoming through the bond, one of unity, almost pride, and the coyote knew because of it that his boy had broken free of the others and was running after him. Following. He would catch up, and they would be together. They would always be together.
So the coyote ran and ran and ran. Up the slippery slope of snow, sliding down the other side. Into the quiet, claustrophobic dark of the forest. To safety. He ran.